THE BRITISH TROOPS RETIRE INTO FRANCE—THE ADVENTURES OF A CHAPLAIN TO A FIELD AMBULANCE—THE ROYAL FIELD ARTILLERY—A WOUNDED GUNNER—LOSING HIS REGIMENT—A GORDON HIGHLANDER’S EXPERIENCES—OPERATIONS OF THE FRENCH TROOPS—BRITISH versus GERMAN CAVALRY—SIR JOHN FRENCH’S ACCOUNT OF THE EVENTS OF AUGUST 25—THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI—THE REV. OWEN S. WATKINS’ ADVENTURES—MR. ASQUITH ANNOUNCES A WONDERFUL FEAT OF ARMS.

We now return to Sir John French’s despatch and quote that portion in which he describes the causes that forced him to retire to the Bavai—Maubeuge line on Monday, August 24:—

In view of the possibility of my being driven from the Mons position, I had previously ordered a position in rear to be reconnoitred. This position rested on the fortress of Maubeuge on the right and extended west to Jenlain, south-east of Valenciennes, on the left. The position was reported difficult to hold, because standing crops and buildings made the sighting of trenches very difficult and limited the field of fire in many important localities. It nevertheless afforded a few good artillery positions.

When the news of the retirement of the French and the heavy German threatening on my front reached me, I endeavoured to confirm it by aeroplane reconnaissance; and as a result of this I determined to effect a retirement to the Maubeuge position at daybreak on the 24th.

A certain amount of fighting continued along the whole line throughout the night, and at daybreak on the 24th the 2nd Division from the neighbourhood of Harmignies made a powerful demonstration as if to retake Binche. This was supported by the artillery of both the 1st and 2nd Divisions, whilst the 1st Division took up a supporting position in the neighbourhood of Peissant. Under cover of this demonstration the Second Corps retired on the line Dour—Quarouble—Frameries. The 3rd Division on the right of the Corps suffered considerable loss in this operation from the enemy, who had retaken Mons.

The Second Corps halted on this line, where they partially entrenched themselves, enabling Sir Douglas Haig with the First Corps gradually to withdraw to the new position; and he effected this without much further loss, reaching the line Bavai—Maubeuge about 7 p.m. Towards midday the enemy appeared to be directing his principal effort against our left. I had previously ordered General Allenby with the Cavalry to act vigorously in advance of my left front and endeavour to take the pressure off.

About 7.30 a.m. General Allenby received a message from Sir George Fergusson, commanding 5th Division, saying that he was very hard pressed and in urgent need of support. On receipt of this message General Allenby drew in the Cavalry and endeavoured to bring direct support to the 5th Division.

During the course of this operation General De Lisle, of the 2nd Cavalry Brigade, thought he saw a good opportunity to paralyse the further advance of the enemy’s infantry by making a mounted attack on his flank. He formed up and advanced for this purpose, but was held up by wire about 500 yards from his objective, and the 9th Lancers and 18th Hussars suffered severely in the retirement of the Brigade.

The 19th Infantry Brigade, which had been guarding the Line of Communications, was brought up by rail to Valenciennes on the 22nd and 23rd. On the morning of the 24th they were moved out to a position south of Quarouble to support the left flank of the Second Corps.

With the assistance of the Cavalry Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien was enabled to effect his retreat to a new position; although, having two corps of the enemy on his front and one threatening his flank, he suffered great losses in doing so.

At nightfall the position was occupied by the Second Corps to the west of Bavai, the First Corps to the right. The right was protected by the Fortress of Maubeuge, the left by the 19th Brigade in position between Jenlain and Bry, and the Cavalry on the outer flank.

General French crossed the Belgian frontier into France when he retired to the position, already reconnoitred, resting on Maubeuge. This town is situated on both banks of the river Sambre, and is protected by a fortress of the first class. From the statement of a refugee, it would seem Maubeuge can show evidence that the German attack on France had long been premeditated. All the German heavy artillery, he says, was placed on platforms of concrete built on sites carefully selected by private individuals some years ago as the foundation of factories which were never completed.

Fighting, as Sir John tells us, continued on Saturday night, the 22nd, and early on Sunday morning along the whole of the British lines, which were unsupported by the French troops. Mons fell into the hands of the enemy, who were piercing our extreme left, but a cavalry attack on their flank under the direction of General de Lisle checked the further advance of the Germans, and by a tactical feat of great skill, but not without severe losses, Sir John French effected a successful retirement by Sunday night, August 23.

Of the achievements of the three regiments of General de Lisle’s command, most is known of the doings of the 9th Lancers, but both the 4th Royal Irish Dragoon Guards and the 18th (Queen Mary’s Own) Hussars covered themselves with glory.

The brigade commenced operations in Belgian territory towards Namur, in its own allotted zone. A carefully organised and extensive system of reconnoitring detachments was instituted. Officers’ patrols were pushed forward, supported by contact troops. The patrols were also assisted by motor scouts. There was also a concentrated group of squadrons, with two batteries of Royal Horse Artillery, which moved out to meet the enemy at break of day.

Information came to hand of the artillery positions of the Germans, and of preparations being made by them for a general advance. The cavalry field guns were early engaged in operations against the enemy’s cavalry, followed later by a mÊlÉe, in which the German dragoons got much the worst of it. Fighting took place practically every day, as the British troops were compelled to fall back. The German cavalry were sought for and engaged, in the hope that the enemy’s artillery might be captured. There was a fixed desire on the part of our men to get hold of the guns which have played such havoc with shrapnel. A wounded cavalryman says that they have “knocked the stuffing out of the German cavalry.”

“At first,” he says “they came for us, and we put case shot into them at 500 yards, and then dismounted squadrons, and stopped their advance with the rifle, throwing them into confusion. We then mounted and rode straight at them. They opened out and let us ride through them, and it was then we emptied their saddles. They don’t appear to like personal encounter. Some were dragged from their seats and pegged with the lance. They don’t come for us now, and directly we see them we make for them. We have galloped for a mile to get at them. Once they drew us on to the fire of their infantry. We were only 200 yards away when they fired on us, but we were going too fast for them to hit us.

“Our echelons came up into line at the time, and we spread out as we met them hand to hand. Many surrendered without fighting, and those that made off came under the fire of our guns. The German cavalry have excellent mounts, and the horses are well trained. Somehow the men haven’t got the same grit as our chaps. When they hear our yell and see our swords they turn pale, and want to be off. If it wasn’t for their officers I believe they’d never face us.”

The Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins, who was one of the chaplains attached to a Field Ambulance of the British Expeditionary Forces, contributed to the Methodist Recorder a story of the retreat with the army from Mons to Paris in care of the wounded. We have ventured to quote from Mr. Watkins’s article a few passages:—He left Dublin on August 16 and embarked on the transport City of Benares, which carried, besides himself, three Anglican and one Roman Catholic chaplain. During a voyage of forty-eight hours, they were “convoyed” from Ireland to Land’s End by British men-of-war, and through the English Channel by French warships. At Land’s End the British ship that had been watching over them passed within hailing distance, and the “blue-jackets” crowded to the ship’s side shouting their good wishes, to which the men on the outgoing boat responded with ringing cheers.

After a train journey from Havre of twenty hours, they reached Valenciennes on Sunday morning, August 23. “With as little delay as possible,” said Mr. Watkins, “we detrained, for we were told the great fight at Mons had already started, and we were urgently needed in the fighting line. Then followed a twenty miles’ march, almost without a halt, through villages where the population received us with enthusiasm—showered flowers upon us as we passed, pressed gifts of fruit, wine, cider, tea, and coffee upon the troops, whilst our men, to show their gratitude, shouted ‘Vive la France,’ chanted the Marseillaise, and cheered until they were hoarse. Then the dark and sleeping villages were suddenly awakened by the tramp of men. The troops were now marching doggedly and silently, the monotonous tramp, tramp almost sent me to sleep in the saddle, and would have done so but for the aching of bones and muscles which for long had been unaccustomed to so many hours on horseback.

“Towards the morning of August 24 we halted in the little town of Bavai, and bivouacked in the main square. Here we found a Red Cross Hospital in charge of a priest and a few sisters, and in it were already some of our men; one, a man of the Dorset Regiment, was apparently dying of pneumonia; another, a Royal Engineer, smashed in a motor accident, had just died, and, at the request of the Sisters, Mr. Winnifrith, the Church of England Chaplain, held a little service, where he lay in the mortuary. Then, fully dressed, we threw ourselves down on vacant beds in one of the wards and snatched a couple of hours’ sleep.

“We wakened just after dawn on August 25 to the sound of heavy firing, and without waiting even for breakfast we at once moved off. Early in our march we learned from a Staff Officer, who passed us at the gallop, that the British had fallen back, and were now holding the line of the Mons Canal, and that the odds against them were simply overwhelming. He urged us to push on, as there was a shortage of ambulances, and the casualty list was already very heavy. Shortly after we crossed the Belgian frontier, and there were met by the transport of our Division (the 5th) returning into France. As we urged forward our weary men and horses, our progress was constantly impeded by pathetic crowds of terror-stricken refugees—women, children, old men—coming along the road in droves, carrying their few valuables on their backs, weeping piteously, some dropping exhausted by the roadside, and all telling heart-rending stories of homes in flames, and some of outrages which made the blood run cold, and caused men to set their lips tight and talk in undertones of the revenge they hoped to take. I cannot describe it; it will not bear thinking about; but it has left a mark on our hearts and memories which nothing can efface.”

The desperate character of the fighting at Mons is admitted by every survivor of that fierce struggle. Those who had also served in the Boer War say there never was any fighting in South Africa to compare with it. A sergeant gunner of the Royal Field Artillery, wounded in the jaw at Tournai, stated that he was on a flank with his gun and fired about sixty rounds in forty minutes. “We wanted support,” he said, “and could not get it. It was about 500 English trying to save a flank attack, against, honestly I should say, 10,000. As fast as you shot them down, more came. But for their aeroplanes they would be useless. I was firing for one hour at from 1,500 yards down to 700 yards.”

Driver W. Moore, also of the Royal Field Artillery, wrote:—

It was Sunday night, August 23, when we saw the enemy. We were ready for action, but were lying down to have a rest, when orders came to stand at our posts. It was about four a.m. on Monday when we started to fire; we were at it all day till six p.m., when we started to advance. Then the bugle sounded the charge, and the cavalry and infantry charged like madmen at the enemy; then the enemy fell back about forty miles, so we held at bay till Wednesday, when the enemy was reinforced. Then they came on to Mons, and by that time we had every man, woman, and child out of the town.... We were situated on a hill in a cornfield and we could see all over the country. It was about three p.m., and we started to let them have a welcome by blowing up two of their batteries in about five minutes; then the infantry let go, and then the battle was in full swing.

In the middle of the battle a driver got wounded and asked to see the colours before he died, and he was told by an officer that the guns were his colours. He replied, “Tell the drivers to keep their eyes on their guns, because if we lose our guns we lose our colours.”

Just then the infantry had to retire, and the gunners had to leave their guns, but the drivers were so proud of their guns that they went and got them out, and we retired to St. Quentin. We had a roll-call, and only ten were left out of my battery. This was the battle in which poor Winchester (an old Cornwall boy) lost his life in trying to get the guns away.

When the order came to retire it was received by a disappointed force. Such a one was a private in the Middlesex Regiment, who wrote as follows:—

It was somewhere in the neighbourhood of Mons, I believe, that we got our first chance. We had been marching for days with hardly any sleep. When we took up our position the Germans were nearer than we thought, because we had only just settled down to get some rest when there came the blinding glare of the searchlight. This went away almost as suddenly as it appeared, and it was followed by a perfect hail of bullets. We lost a good many in the fight, but we were all bitterly disappointed when we got the order to retire. I got a couple of bullets through my leg, but I hope it won’t be long before I get back again. We never got near enough to use our bayonets. I only wish we had done. Talk about civilised warfare! Don’t you believe it. The Germans are perfect fiends.

We have already given the experiences of some of the West Kents, who were in the thick of the fighting from the beginning. The following is an account by another man in this regiment, who said:—

“We were in a scrubby position just outside Mons from Saturday afternoon till Monday morning. After four hours of action each of our six big guns was put out of action. Either the gunners were killed or wounded, or the guns themselves damaged. For the rest of the time—that is, until Monday morning, when we retired—we had to stick the German fire without being able to retaliate. It was bad enough to stand this incessant banging away, but it made it worse not to be able to reply.

All day Sunday and all Sunday night the Germans continued to shrapnel us. At night it was just hellish. We had constructed some entrenchment, but it didn’t afford much cover, and our losses were very heavy. On Monday we received the order to retire to the south of the town, and some hours later, when the roll-call was called, it was found that we had 300 dead alone, including four officers.

Then an extraordinary thing happened. Me and some of my pals began to dance. We were just dancing for joy at having escaped with our skins, and to forget the things we’d seen a bit, when bang! and there came a shell from the blue, which burst and got, I should think, quite twenty of us.

That’s how some of us got wounded, as we thought we had escaped. Then another half-dozen of us got wounded this way. Some of our boys went down a street near by, and found a basin and some water, and were washing their hands and faces when another shell burst above them and laid most of them out. What happened to us happened to the Gloucesters. Their guns, too, were put out of action, and, like us, they had to stand the shell-fire for hours and hours before they were told to retire. What we would have done without our second in command I don’t know.

During the Sunday firing he got hit in the head. He had two wounds through the cap in the front and one or two behind, and lost a lot of blood. Two of our fellows helped to bind up his head, and offered to carry him back, but he said, ‘It isn’t so bad. I’ll be all right soon.’ Despite his wounds and loss of blood, he carried on until we retired on Monday. Then, I think, they took him off to hospital.”

Some further battle stories from wounded men relate to the fighting round Mons. One of the Cheshires said:—“Our chaps were also badly cut up. Apart from the wounded, several men got concussion of the brain by the mere explosions. It was awful! Under the cover of their murderous artillery fire, the German infantry advanced to within three and five hundred yards of our position. With that we were given the order to fix bayonets, and stood up for the charge. That did it for the German infantry! They turned tail and ran for their lives.

Our captain cried out, ‘Now you’ve got ’em, men!’ But we hadn’t. Their artillery begins with that to fire more hellish than ever, and before you could almost think what to do, fresh lots of the ‘sausages’ came along, and we had to beat a retreat.

During the retreat one of our sergeants was wounded and fell. With that our captain runs back and tries to lift him. As he was doing so he was struck in the foot, and fell over. We thought he was done for, but he scrambles up and drags the sergeant along until a couple of us chaps goes out to help ’em in.”

How a number of British troops made a dash in the night to save some women and children from the Germans was told by Lance-corporal Tanner, of the 2nd Oxfordshire and Bucks Light Infantry. “On Sunday week,” he said, “the regiment arrived at Mons.”

“We took up our position in the trenches,” he said, “and fought for some time. In the evening the order came to retire, and we marched back to CondÉ, with the intention of billeting for the night, and having a rest. Suddenly, about midnight, we were ordered out, and set off to march to the village of Douai, some miles away, as news had reached us that the Germans were slaughtering the natives there.

“It was a thrilling march in the darkness, across the unfamiliar country. We were liable to be attacked at any moment, of course, but everyone was keen on saving the women and children, and hurried on. We kept the sharpest look-out on all sides, but saw nothing of the enemy.

When we reached Douai a number of the inhabitants rushed out to meet us. They were overjoyed to see us, and speedily told what the Germans had done. They had killed a number of women and children. With fixed bayonets we advanced into the village, and we saw signs all around us of the cruelty of the enemy.“

Private R. Wills, of the Highland Light Infantry, who also took part in the march to the village, here continued the story. “We found that most of the Germans had not waited for our arrival, and there were only a few left in the place. However, we made sure that none remained there.

We started a house-to-house search. Our men went into all the houses, and every now and then they found one or two of the enemy hiding in a corner or upstairs. Many of them surrendered at once, others did not.

When we had cleared the village, some of us lay down on the pavements, and snatched an hour’s sleep. At 3.30 we marched away again, having rid the place of the enemy, and, getting back to camp, were glad to turn in.”

A gunner of the Lancashire Fusiliers, who was injured by the overturning of his gun, gave his experiences of fighting for seventy-three hours in the neighbourhood of Mons. He spoke of the surprise of some Germans who, while they were being shelled, suddenly received a bayonet charge from a body of men the advance of whom they had not observed as they had crept up under cover. The enemy quickly retired, having lost about 250 men. The gunner expressed a poor opinion of the Germans as shots, who “are frightened of the bayonet, and when charged run faster than our men can pursue them,” but he praised their artillery. Speaking of the strength of the Germans, he said there were nine of them to every Englishman. As fast as they were killed, others replaced them, but they succeeded in reducing their numbers. The Fusiliers retired to Donicourt, and on ascending a hill the gunner was so injured as to be unable to move; he was fortunately picked up by a Frenchman, who conveyed him to the hospital at St. Quentin. The Germans have a trick of disabling the wounded from using rifles again by injuring their wrists, jamming them on the ground by the butts of their weapons.

It is not an uncommon thing for men to get separated from their regiments; it is often the fate of those who are reported missing or lost. At Mons the enemy cut off some of the Somerset Light Infantry, most of whom hid themselves until dark, and then throwing away their rifles managed to crawl between the German pickets. They did not, however, succeed in regaining their regiments, but made their way to the homes of peasants, who supplied them with civilian clothes. They had some narrow escapes from being arrested for German spies, as they could speak no French, but eventually they reached Boulogne, where they obtained a pass to England and were able to rejoin their depÔt.

The following stories also illustrate the perils attending missing troops and their endeavours to regain the British lines. The first, from a letter of a non-commissioned officer of Dragoons, tells of the adventures of himself and a companion who lost their regiment on the Belgian frontier:—

We struck, after a very sharp and dangerous engagement, a tiny village, where the priest was absolutely an angel, and gave us—the four who got there—food, shelter, and clothing, and hid a corporal and myself in an old belfry, and a couple of infantrymen, wounded at Mons, in a secret crypt. Since then much has happened. A veterinary officer and sergeant of Hussars, who had lost their way and could not speak a word of French, happened to hit the next village, and an old hawker managed to induce them by signs to follow him to our lair.

“What was he to do?” asked the officer. “Had the Uhlans gone west or east? Should they disguise and risk it, or face the certainty of being made prisoners if caught in uniform?” We settled it by a compromise, which has so far answered, for no Uhlans have appeared to molest us on the road, though we saw on the skyline about thirty trotting in the direction of ————. If they saw us through their field-glasses we should only appear to them as market gardeners or agricultural labourers, taking in a heavy load of potatoes, turnips, and garden produce, and suitably attired.

All our kit and arms had been sent on in advance in a donkey-cart, driven by an old woman, and in such a broken-down condition that even a keen-eyed Prussian would not have detected the false bottom we spent a day in making for the purpose of secreting Government property. The old curÉ roared with laughter at the ingenuity of the veterinary officer who designed the dodge and helped to make it.

The carrier’s wagon, in which we drove two horses, was now flanked by two pack horses with saddlebags on each horse (we had four altogether), stuffed with tomatoes and artichokes, on a French country saddle. I rode one and the officer rode the other. Peasants we met told us that all along the road ———— small parties of strangers had been passing whom they thought must be soldiers, but they were not dressed in uniform. So it seems clear that many of our men have been cut off from their units and are moving towards the coast.

Our first night after leaving ———— was at a village where there was a delicious running stream, and we bathed to our hearts’ content in a secluded bend away from the public gaze. The people were shy and seemed alarmed, so the officer showed them a letter from our dear old friend the priest, which served as an informal passport during our journey.

The Uhlans had been there and paid for some food, cleared the chairs away from the church and turned it into a stable, and although the people had shown them every civility the Germans threw manure into the holy water stoup, smashed the head of the blessed Virgin statue, and wilfully disfigured the shrine of St. Louis de France in whose honour a small chapel had been erected. There were no houses damaged, and it is a curious fact that in this particular instance the Uhlans had behaved as religious maniacs of a peculiarly disgusting type, breaking the glass of the church windows, tearing the lace altar frontal, breaking every candlestick upon the altar, and using the vestments of the priest for horse-rubbers.

The other account, like the first, communicated to the Daily Telegraph, is from Lieutenant F.V. Drake, of the 11th Hussars, and tells of his escape after the fighting at Mons. Speaking of the retiring movement, he says:—

After six days I was left with thirty-six men to hold the Germans back while the others got away; but we were surrounded by a brigade of German cavalry. First of all we tried to get across country, and were caught up in barbed wire, and they turned two machine guns on us. They killed a lot of horses, but not many men. We then fought our way on to the road which leads into the village of Honcourt. The village was held by the Germans, and barricaded. We were being shot at from behind and in front, and there was barbed wire on both sides of the road.

We charged the barricade. My horse was shot about 200 yards before I got to the barricade, and I was stunned a bit. When I got up again I found all the other fellows swarming on the barricade. I “joined in the hunt,” and eight others and I eventually got out of the village on foot into a wood, where I divided the men into twos, and told them the direction in which to go and left them, telling each pair to hide in different parts of the wood.

We spent two days and two nights in that wood, with the Germans absolutely round us: they were so near, in fact, that we could hear every word they said. Leaving the wood by night, we pushed on to where we heard the English were: at Cambrai; but when we got there we found they had left the day before. We then hid in a wine cellar, and the Germans came and burnt down the house above us. We, however, escaped through a ventilator. We crawled out through the kitchen garden and hid in some wheat sheaves for the rest of that day, and at night we moved south, where we heard firing going on.

We averaged every night about twenty-five kilometres. We always marched by compass, and always went absolutely plumb straight across country. Each day we hid in hen-houses, outbuildings, or wherever we could, and marched by night. We found the inhabitants extremely nice. Wherever possible they gave us food—if the Germans had not taken it all.

Later we secured a motor-car, and proceeded towards St. Pol, but when we had proceeded about half-way we found a German sentry outside a house. We raced past him, and he fired a shot or two, but missed us, and we got safely through the village. Boulogne was eventually reached without further adventure.

One of the most graphic descriptions of the five days’ fighting at Mons is contained in a letter from a wounded Gordon Highlander. He relates that on Sunday, August 23, his regiment rose at 4 a.m., and marching out 1,100 strong took up ground on the extreme left flank of the British force and made good trenches, which apparently was the reason that they escaped with comparatively few casualties. “Later in the day a hellish tornado of shell swept over us, and with this introduction to war we received our baptism of fire. We were lining the Mons road, and immediately in our front and to our rear were woods. In the rear wood was stationed a battery of R.F.A.” The German artillery he spoke of as wonderful, and most of those do who have had experience of it. The first shot generally found them, as if the ranges had been carefully taken beforehand. But the British gunners were better, and they hammered and battered the Germans all the day long.

They were at least three to our one, and our artillery could not be in fifty places at once, so we just had to stick it. The German infantry are bad skirmishers and rotten shots, and they were simply mowed down in batches by our chaps. They came in companies of, I should say, 150 men in file five deep, and we simply rained bullets at them the live-long day. At about five p.m. the Germans in the left front of us retired, and we saw no more of them.

The Royal Irish Regiment had had an awful smashing earlier on, as also had the Middlesex, and our company were ordered to go along the road as reinforcements. The one and a half mile seemed a thousand. Stormed at all the way, we kept on, and no one was hit until we came to a white house which stood in a clearing. Immediately the officer passed the gap hell was let loose on us, but we got across safely, and I was the only one wounded, and that was with a ricochet shrapnel bullet in the right knee.

I knew nothing about it until an hour after, when I had it pointed out to me. I dug it out with a knife. We passed dead civilians, some women, and a little boy with his thigh shattered by a bullet. Poor wee fellow. He lay all the time on his face, and some man of the Irish was looking after him, and trying to make him comfortable. The devils shelled the hospital and killed the wounded, despite a huge Red Cross flag flying over it.

When we got to the Royal Irish Regiment’s trenches the scene was terrible. They were having dinner when the Germans opened on them, and their dead and wounded were lying all around. Beyond a go at some German cavalry, the day drew in, and darkness saw us on the retreat. The regiment lost one officer and one man dead, one officer and some men severely wounded. We kept up this sort of game (fighting by day and retiring by night) until we got to Cambrai, on Tuesday night. I dare not mention that place and close my eyes. God, it was awful. Avalanche followed avalanche of fresh German troops, but the boys stuck to it, and we managed to retire to Ham without any molestation. Cambrai was the biggest battle fought. Out of all the glorious regiment of 1,100 men only five officers and 170 of the men answered the roll-call next day. Thank God, I was one of them.

Of course, there may be a number who got separated from the battalion through various causes, and some wounded who escaped. I hope so, because of the heavy hearts at home. I saw the South Lancs, and they were terribly cut up, only a remnant left of the regiment.

Operations of the French troops at this date are described by the Paris correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, who stated that:—

Incursions of the German cavalry forces had been made into the district of Valenciennes, Lille, and Douai, in the North of France, with the result that they got a bad reception and were cut up. The raid was carried out by three separate columns, one of which started in the direction of Lille, the second swept around Valenciennes, and the third advanced in the direction of Cambrai.

The first column crossed the frontier line and headed for Lille, but before it got to Lille it had a sharp encounter with the French. The column fell back, and finally moved on towards Douai. In its zigzag course it left a number of prisoners.

The second cavalry column, which was more important, crossed the French frontier on Monday evening, August 24. Faithful to their cruel practice, they compelled, under threat of instant shooting, a number of women and children to walk in front of them. Towards morning a battery of artillery, which had taken position and was concealed in a wood, opened fire on the enemy and caused great slaughter.

Eye-witnesses of the action relate that the column was entirely broken up. The few survivors who escaped fled, but were captured.

The British made a stout resistance in their position against Maubeuge, while the rest of the forces at Mons fell back. The pressure from the Germans increased in severity. Not only were their numbers vastly superior to ours, but they were said to comprise a body of their best men, animated with a determination to crush our lines. In those places where the strain was felt to be overpowering, especially on the left, some further support was given by our cavalry, who did splendid service in checking the enemy’s advance. When a battery of heavy German guns was playing havoc with our trenches, and the force of our artillery was beginning to lose effect, an order was given to the 9th Lancers to put the enemy’s guns out of action, and under a terrific storm of shell and shrapnel the order was carried out by a daring cavalry charge. The French were still retiring, and it was now evident that the position occupied by our troops was without sufficient advantage to enable them to make a further stand against the foe with any prospect of success. Dangerous as the operation was, Sir John French decided to retire, and to meet the Germans in what proved to be a most deadly conflict.

Sir John French continues the story of his retirement, and deals with the events of August 25, in the following section of his despatch:—

The French were still retiring, and I had no support except such as was afforded by the Fortress of Maubeuge; and the determined attempts of the enemy to get round my left flank assured me that it was his intention to hem me against that place and surround me. I felt that not a moment must be lost in retiring to another position.

I had every reason to believe that the enemy’s forces were somewhat exhausted, and I knew that they had suffered heavy losses. I hoped therefore that his pursuit would not be too vigorous to prevent me effecting my object.

The operation, however, was full of danger and difficulty, not only owing to the very superior force in my front, but also to the exhaustion of the troops.

The retirement was recommenced in the early morning of the 25th to a position in the neighbourhood of Le Cateau, and rearguards were ordered to be clear of the Maubeuge—Bavai—Eth Road by 5.30 a.m.

Two Cavalry Brigades, with the Divisional Cavalry of the Second Corps, covered the movement of the Second Corps. The remainder of the Cavalry Division with the 19th Brigade, the whole under the command of General Allenby, covered the west flank.

The 4th Division commenced its detrainment at Le Cateau on Sunday, the 23rd, and by the morning of the 25th eleven battalions and a Brigade of Artillery with Divisional Staff were available for service.

I ordered General Snow to move out to take up a position with his right south of Solesmes, his left resting on the Cambrai—Le Cateau Road south of La Chaprie. In this position the Division rendered great help to the effective retirement of the Second and First Corps to the new position.

Although the troops had been ordered to occupy the Cambrai—Le Cateau—Landrecies position, and the ground had, during the 25th, been partially prepared and entrenched, I had grave doubts—owing to the information I received as to the accumulating strength of the enemy against me—as to the wisdom of standing there to fight.

Having regard to the continued retirement of the French on my right, my exposed left flank, the tendency of the enemy’s western corps (II.) to envelop me, and, more than all, the exhausted condition of the troops, I determined to make a great effort to continue the retreat till I could put some substantial obstacle, such as the Somme or the Oise, between my troops and the enemy, and afford the former some opportunity of rest and reorganisation. Orders were, therefore, sent to the Corps Commanders to continue their retreat as soon as they possibly could towards the general line Vermand—St. Quentin—Ribemont.

The Cavalry, under General Allenby, were ordered to cover the retirement.

Throughout the 25th and far into the evening, the First Corps continued its march on Landrecies, following the road along the eastern border of the ForÊt de Mormal, and arrived at Landrecies about 10 o’clock. I had intended that the Corps should come further west so as to fill up the gap between Le Cateau and Landrecies, but the men were exhausted and could not get further in without rest. The enemy, however, would not allow them this rest, and about 9.30 p.m. a report was received that the 4th Guards Brigade in Landrecies was heavily attacked by troops of the 9th German Army Corps who were coming through the forest on the north of the town. This brigade fought most gallantly and caused the enemy to suffer tremendous loss in issuing from the forest into the narrow streets of the town. This loss has been estimated from reliable sources at from 700 to 1,000. At the same time information reached me from Sir Douglas Haig that his 1st Division was also heavily engaged south and east of Maroilles. I sent urgent messages to the Commander of the two French Reserve Divisions on my right to come up to the assistance of the First Corps, which they eventually did. Partly owing to this assistance, but mainly to the skilful manner in which Sir Douglas Haig extricated his Corps from an exceptionally difficult position in the darkness of the night, they were able at dawn to resume their march south towards Wassigny on Guise.

By about 6 p.m. the Second Corps had got into position with their right on Le Cateau, their left in the neighbourhood of Caudry, and the line of defence was continued thence by the 4th Division towards Seranvillers, the left being thrown back.

A communiquÉ issued by the French War Office on September 1 explains the forced retirement of the French from their position near Givet, and the consequent withdrawal of our troops from Cateau and Cambrai on August 25. The prompt action of the British troops at this very critical stage undoubtedly saved the French from disaster:—

The Franco-British forces were originally engaged in the region of Dinant, Charleroi, and Mons. Some partial checks were suffered, and the forcing of the Meuse by the Germans near Givet on our flank obliged our troops to fall back, the Germans all the time trying to approach by the west.

In these circumstances our British Allies, attacked by superior numbers in Cateau and Cambrai, had to retire towards the south when we were operating in the region of Avesnes and Chimay. The retreating movement continued during the following days, although a general battle took place during its progress. This engagement was notable for an important success on our right, where we threw back the Prussian Guard and the Tenth Corps on to the Oise.

As a set-off to this, and because of the progress of the right German wing, where our adversaries concentrated the finest army corps, we had to record a new withdrawing movement.

To sum up, on our right, after partial checks, we had taken the offensive, and the enemy was retreating before us. In the centre we had alternative successes and checks, but a general battle was again in progress. The moral of the Allies’ troops continued to be extremely good in spite of their losses, which were made good from the depÔts.

We will now quote again from the narrative of the Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins, whose courage was worthy of the army to which he was attached. He had a narrow escape of being taken prisoner. After leaving Villars Sal he learnt from a motor-cyclist who passed them that the Germans had entered on one side of the village as they went out of the other. At Villersan they halted.

Horses and men (he said), transport and guns, an endless procession they passed, blackened with grime, bearing evident signs of the past few days of fighting. And behind were the infantry still fighting a rearguard action. But the men were in good spirits; they were retreating, but this was not a defeated army.... The town of Cambrai was now in sight, and we were told that just beyond it, at a place called Le Cateau, was a position we could hold, and here we should entrench and make a stand.... Once I passed through a division of French Cavalry, who greeted me most courteously, and were very curious to know exactly what my duties with the Army were. A great contrast they presented to our khaki-clad troops in their blue and red and gold, but it struck me that such finery was hardly likely to be so serviceable as our more sombre khaki.

On the morning of Wednesday, August 26, after four hours’ sleep in the rain, I was awakened by the sound of heavy guns, and rose from my bed of straw to realise that the battle of Le Cateau had begun. As I had slept booted and spurred, no time was wasted in toilet, and I was able at once to ride off to the scene of action, whilst the ambulance wagons and stretcher-bearers were making ready to do likewise. I visited the infantry lining their trenches, but they had not yet come into action. As I talked with them I little thought how many hundreds of these lads of the 14th Infantry Brigade (Manchesters, Suffolks, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry, and East Surreys) would be lying low before the end of day. Later I was for a while with the 108th Heavy Battery, whose guns were masked with corn-sheaves to hide them from the German aeroplane, and who even, whilst I was with them, did terrible execution. The great 60-pounder shells were burst with wonderful precision and deadly effect, and before the day was over this battery alone had completely exterminated two batteries of German artillery. My next move was to the 15th Brigade Royal Field Artillery, which had just come into action. The story of these batteries is one of the most moving and heroic in the war, and perhaps some day it will be fully told. The losses amongst both men and horses were appalling, yet still they worked their guns. In one battery only a junior officer and one man was left, but between them they still contrived to keep the gun in action.

Now the battle was in full swing, the noise was deafening; the whole can only be realised by one who has himself passed through a similar experience—I cannot describe it.

... The casualties were pouring in upon us now, and the worst cases still lay in the trenches, from which they could not be moved until the fire slackened, or darkness came. The injured men told of brave and dogged fighting in the trenches, of an opposing host that seemed without number, of casualties so numerous that they seemed to us an exaggeration, and later of trenches that were being enfiladed by German shrapnel. Evidently the French, who, we understood, were on our flank, had been late in arriving, or else they had retreated, leaving our flank exposed. By this time other batteries were taking up their positions in our vicinity, and it soon became evident that the position was becoming impossible for a dressing station. But how to move? that was the question; for we had far more wounded than it was possible to carry in our ambulance wagons. So we sorted out all who were able to hop, or walk, or be helped along by comrades, and they were told that they must walk to Busigny as best they could. Meanwhile the operating tents were being pulled down and packed upon the wagons, and as the last were being loaded shell was bursting over our camp. To me was delegated the task of shepherding the wounded who were walking, and seeing them safe to Busigny railway station, where it was hoped they would get a train to take them down country. I never want such a task again. Up and down that road I galloped, urging one poor fellow to hop faster, expostulating with another who, seated by the roadside, declared he could go no further, and that to fall into the hands of the Germans would be no worse than the agony he endured as he walked. At last I came across a farmer’s cart, and taking the law into my own hands, commandeered it, and made the man come back with me and pick up all who could walk no more. Time and again there would be a burst of shrapnel in the road, but as far as I could see nobody was injured. Just off the road the cavalry were at work doing their best to guard our flank as we retreated—for now I learned we were in full retreat—and amongst them the casualties were heavy. Such as we could reach we carried with us. At last, to my infinite relief, Busigny was reached, and I was relieved of my charge.

At Le Cateau the 5th Division lost probably more heavily than any other portion of the British Forces. It was entirely due to the splendid generalship of Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien that we had not to record a great disaster; ever since then we had been in retreat, but it was not a beaten or even a seriously discouraged army.

Fighting on this day is described by some who were present at the battle. The following related to the Royal Dublin Fusiliers:—

Captain Trigona said that on August 26 the main body of the Allies was in the district of Mons, and in the direction of Cambrai his battalion formed a portion of the rearguard, and were continually being harassed by the enemy. An order, which they should have received to retire, miscarried. This, in his opinion, was due to despatch riders falling into the hands of the enemy.

The regiment was left unsupported, and an overwhelming body of the enemy attacking them, they were obliged to retreat. The Germans moved forward in dark, thick masses, and the British rifle did terrible havoc among their closely-packed ranks. The enemy’s ranks in places were blotted out by the withering leaden blast which the Fusiliers kept up with that dogged determination which has won for the regiment in past wars many golden laurels. The German loss was much greater than ours. This is accounted for by the close formation adopted by the latter.

At one time the regiment had fallen back on a large farmhouse, but a number of shells from the German artillery quickly reduced the building to a heap of dÉbris, and they were forced to evacuate the farm. During the succeeding night Captain Trigona and a small body of men got separated from the other portion of the troops. When daylight broke they found themselves wandering in a country swarming with the enemy’s cavalry. They were completely cut off from the Allies’ forces, but succeeded in reaching a French village without being molested by the Germans. They were received with every kindness by the villagers. Food was supplied to the well-nigh famished men, and welcome rest was obtained in barns and farmhouses. After eight days’ travelling by night and hiding by day they reached Boulogne.

Another officer, in the Irish Guards, wrote a vivid account of the Titanic struggle in the neighbourhood of Cambrai:—

We had a very bad night on Tuesday, August 25, he said, when our billets were attacked by the Germans, and a situation arose which at one time looked very serious for our brigade. However, we held our own, and simply mowed the Germans down. The doctors counted over 2,000 of their dead outside the town next morning when they were collecting our wounded.

I must say now none of us expected to get away. I, with about thirty men, was given a house to defend which commanded two main streets, and we worked away at it from about 10 p.m. until about 1.30 a.m., when we were called out to join the battalion who were going out to attack the Germans with the bayonet. But when we got to the other side of the town we found they had had enough of it, and gone.

I think I shall never forget that night as long as I live. We all had wonderful escapes, with shrapnel shell bursting continuously, high explosive shells, also; houses burning and falling down from the shell fire; the intermittent rifle fire, with every now and then furious bursts of fire when the Germans attacked.

Our biggest fight so far took place at Landrecies. The Germans attacked us in the town furiously. They brought their guns to within fifty yards of us in the dark on the road, and opened point-blank fire. Our gunners brought up a gun by hand, as no horse could have lived, and knocked at least one of the German guns out first shot. This all at about sixty yards.

Notwithstanding the fury of the engagement, the enemy found opportunities to outrage the non-combatants for their own ends. A private in the King’s Own Scottish Borderers related that between Mons and Cambrai he had his glengarry torn to shreds with shrapnel. Before he was hit he saw from 600 yards’ range Belgian women tied to the German guns, and this prevented the Coldstream Guards returning the German fire as they retreated in the neighbourhood of Cambrai.

The following is the description of another eye-witness:—

It was on August 26 that we suffered most. Our little lot was waiting for the Germans in a turnip field. We were lying down, and on they came. We let fly, and numbers of them went down. They cracked at us then with their machine guns, and did us a good deal of damage. We were obliged to retire, but there was an off-and-on fight for at least twelve hours. We would get cover and have a smack at ’em, and with their great numbers and our good shooting we did tumble them over. But, my goodness, the numbers did keep coming on, and we had to go back. Our fellows were falling here and there, principally as results of their machine guns, which were doing nearly all the damage. We did not worry a lot about their rifle fire, which was faulty; but we got them every time.

It was the time that we were having a great slap at a bunch of them that we were really tried. We advanced, and pushed them back, but we were outnumbered again. We fell back, and a crush of us got separated from the rest. There were about sixteen of us, and we found ourselves beyond the German lines. In the morning it was “cut and run for it,” for everywhere there were Germans about. We got to a village and hid, the French people taking every care of us. We concealed our arms, and changed our khaki uniforms for any clothes that we could get. In the day-time we hid in barns, under haystacks, or in the homes of French villagers, who were most kind to us.

At Landrecies the Coldstream Guards put up a heroic defence, said a correspondent to the Daily Telegraph, when suddenly attacked by the Germans.

Dealing with the operations which led up to the skirmish (the Guard says), owing to the enemy being five or six times our superior in numbers, and attacking from all quarters fiercely, Sir Douglas Haig had to keep his men on the march almost night and day. We had a rough time of it. Our boys were as lively as crickets, but under fire as cool as you could wish. It was getting dark when we found out that the Kaiser’s crush were coming through a forest, and we soon found out their game.

It was to cut off our force, who were retiring on to Le Cateau covered by our cavalry. We had not long to wait before they swarmed out of the forest and entered the small town from different directions. But we got them everywhere and stopped them, not a man getting through.

About 200 of us drove them down a street, and didn’t the devils squeal when at close quarters. They fell in their scores, and we jumped over them to get at the others. At the corner of the street which led to the principal thoroughfare we came upon a mass of them. At this point we were reinforced from two directions. We were pressed for a time, but they soon lost heart, and we actually had to climb over their dead and wounded, which were heaped up, to get at the others. Then we had to race away to another point where they were hurling their masses at us. Those who did not get back to the forest were knocked over.

It looked at one time as if they would get round us, but they got a surprise packet, for we cleared the town and drove them back. I don’t know how many we accounted for, but I saw quite 150 heaped together in one street.

We had to continue our retreat, and had little rest until we got to CompiÈgne on September 1. Here the brigade had a shaking up. It was the Germans’ last desperate attempt to get through.

What really happened I hardly know. Never before did the Guards fight as they did that day. We are having reinforcements, and we shall then have a chance of getting our own back, for when pressed they will not stand up to us.

On August 29 Mr. Asquith in the House of Commons announced a wonderful feat of arms by the British army. It was with reference to the engagement in the neighbourhood of Cambrai—Le Cateau on Wednesday, August 26, which Sir John French described as “the most critical day of all.” There must have been at the lowest computation 300,000 German troops (five German Army Corps, two Cavalry Divisions, and a reserve corps, with the Guard Cavalry and the 2nd Cavalry Division) opposed to two British Army Corps and a Division. The total strength of our forces cannot have exceeded 100,000 men. In other words, the odds were three to one, and were probably much heavier. Our 2nd Army Corps and 4th Division bore the brunt of the cavalry attack, whilst our 1st Army Corps was attacked on the right and inflicted very heavy loss on the enemy. Our casualties were also heavy. General Joffre, in a message published that morning, had conveyed his congratulations and thanks for the protection so effectively given by our Army to the French flank.

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